Work poems
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An Hymne In Honour Of Love
© Edmund Spenser
Why then do I this honor unto thee,
Thus to ennoble thy victorious name,
Sith thou doest shew no favour unto mee,
Ne once move ruth in that rebellious dame,
The Seven Year Old Poet
© Arthur Rimbaud
And so the Mother, shutting up the duty book,
Went, proud and satisfied.
The Legend of La Brea
© Charles Kingsley
Down beside the loathly Pitch Lake,
In the stately Morichal,
Sat an ancient Spanish Indian,
Peering through the columns tall.
The Gulf of All Human Possessions
© Jonathan Swift
Come hither, and behold the fruits,
Vain man! of all thy vain pursuits.
Take wise advice, and look behind,
Bring all past actions to thy mind.
Olney Hymn 63: Not Of Works
© William Cowper
Grace, triumphant in the throne,
Scorns a rival, reigns alone;
Of The Nature Of Things: Book III - Part 03 - The Soul Is Mortal
© Lucretius
Now come: that thou mayst able be to know
That minds and the light souls of all that live
Natalias Resurrection: Sonnet XXII
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
The thought of night consoled him. To his vision
Natalia was dead only in false death,
The sleeping treason of some false misprision,
Some silent mystery of shortened breath,
On A Bust Of General Grant
© James Russell Lowell
Strong, simple, silent are the [steadfast] laws
That sway this universe, of none withstood,
An Old Umbrella
© Christopher Pearse Cranch
AN old umbrella in the hall,
Battered and baggy, quaint and queer;
By all the rains of many a year
Bent, stained, and faded that is all.
Of The Nature Of Things: Book III - Part 04 - Folly Of The Fear Of Death
© Lucretius
Therefore death to us
Is nothing, nor concerns us in the least,
My Heart
© George MacDonald
Night, with her power to silence day,
Filled up my lonely room,
Quenching all sounds but one that lay
Beyond her passing doom,
Where in his shed a workman gay
Went on despite the gloom.
The Happy Printer
© Henry Austin Dobson
The Printer's is a happy lot:
Alone of all professions,
No fateful smudges ever blot
His earliest "impressions."
The First Hymn Of Callimachus. To Jupiter
© Matthew Prior
While we to Jove select the holy victim
Whom apter shall we sing than Jove himself,
Eclogue 9: Lycidas Moeris
© Publius Vergilius Maro
LYCIDAS
Say whither, Moeris?- Make you for the town,
Or on what errand bent?
The Great Cities
© Henry Van Dyke
How wonderful are the cities that man hath builded:
Their walls are compacted of heavy stones,
And their lofty towers rise above the tree-tops.
The Little Woman
© Edgar Albert Guest
The little woman, to her I bow
And doff my hat as I pass her by;
The Biglow Papers
© James Russell Lowell
Thrash away, you'll _hev_ to rattle
On them kittle-drums o' yourn,--
